The Legacy
by Yva J
Summary: Charlie Bucket and Willy Wonka reflect on Charlie's greatest fears at Grandpa Joe's grave.


_Author's Note: It is through sadness that we truly realize our mortality._

_This story was written in the wake of personal tragedy. Writing is my way of coping with grief or sorrow, and this story was written in the depths of sadness. I am not sure if this will mean anything to those of you reading, as it is encased in wanting to cry, and not being able to. It is a dedication to two people who have died during the course of this past week, but who will not soon be forgotten._

_For me, if is only appropriate that I write this story using Gene Wilder's personification of Willy Wonka. I do not care if anyone reads or reviews this; this is my healing. I wrote this more for myself than for anyone else, but it is a story that I have chosen to freely share. (If you want to review, be my guest, but it is by no means required.) And yes, I know that Gilda Radner was Gene Wilder's wife, but I still think the quotation at the top of this story is so true._

_As for my other stories, I'm going to need some time before I start posting them again. I ask merely for your understanding. Also, please note that in the '71 film, Joe's last name is not Bucket because he is Charlie's maternal grandfather.  
_

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**The Legacy**  
By: Yva J.

_Written in Dedication_

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"_I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." Gilda Radner_

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As the sun rose high in the sky over the streets of London, Charlie Bucket stood staring down at the gravestone. His location unmoving, the wind wafting about him as his eyes filled with tears. Across the stone read the name Joseph Crumpet and the dates of his birth and death. 

He had always called him Grandpa Joe. The old man had been one of his dearest friends. After all, it was during his younger days that he had always confided in him. His grandfather and he had been on adventures together and it was even Joe who had told him about what first dates and kisses were like. Of course, back in those days of young adolescence, Charlie had grimaced at the concept of actually kissing a girl.

As his thoughts drifted, Charlie could feel the tears streaming down over his face. He stared at the large mound of earth that signified a fresh grave. Masses of potted plants covered it, sprays of flowers all about, their sweet scents filling his nostrils.

"Grandpa Joe," he whispered under his breath. His now gloved hand carefully stroking the headstone, the leaves of autumn that had fallen atop it were now gone. He leaned over it, yet no matter what he did, he could not cry. Tears fell, but nothing except raw anger consumed him. He had seen during the last seven years each of his grandparents go, one by one, but this last one had completely shattered his heart. He felt completely lost.

"Why did you have to die?" His words filled the air as he glanced skyward. "What am I going to do without you, Grandpa?" He ran his hand through his still youthful blonde hair.

He wasn't sure what he felt, if he was more angry than sad, more heartbroken than grieving. His heart seemed to beat madly in his chest as he felt himself lashing out at the only source he could think of who deserved his wrathful words. "So, who are You going to take from me next? My mother? Or Willy? Who? I have grown up watching and waiting for everyone I love to just leave me. Well, I don't want to lose anyone else. Do You hear me? I don't want to have to give up anyone else!"

The eighteen-year-old boy's face was now contorted in agony and streaked with tears. As they escaped, he could feel the moisture stinging his eyes and the pain emanating his now broken words. "I don't want to loose anyone else!" His final statement cracked with emotion as he wiped his hands over his face.

He sat down on the ground, the dew slowly soaking through his clothing. He didn't care at this point; he simply leaned up against the headstone and rested his head against the surface. His only inclination was to allow his grief and fury to swallow him whole. This was all he could do. He raised his head and in the distance, he could see the chocolate factory. It was the place he had won because he had been honest and good. Instead of it making him smile, it reminded him of how his Grandpa Joe had been with him throughout that magical day.

More than anything, it reminded him of what he had lost. To Charlie, it felt as though all of its magic had died right along with the old man.

Willy Wonka had said that he would leave once Charlie was old enough to run the factory. It was clear that the chocolatier could not go on forever, but in the wake of Joe's passing, these words now gripped the young man and filled him with anxiety. What would become of Charlie if all he had left was his mother? How could he take over the place that had once belonged to Willy Wonka? Did he really want to?

He shook his head sadly. The thought of his mentor leaving him forever was enough to make his heart stand still.

Willy had, over the years, not only become a dear and trusted friend, but also had somehow become an intricate part of Charlie's family. His presence was that of a surrogate father and this filled the gap that had been left when Charlie's own father had died. Of course, he had never said as much, but he felt it every single day.

Today, Charlie could not imagine what would happen if Willy decided to up and leave. Who would he confide in? Who would be his best friend now that Joseph Crumpet was no longer with them?

"Charlie?" A soothing voice emerged and he raised his head to see the person he had been thinking about was now standing several meters away. Willy remained stationary as his single word filtered through the air.

Charlie swallowed when he saw the familiar silhouette of his teacher behind him. The man's curly blonde hair was tamed down and his blue eyes sought those of the teenager. He came closer; the sounds of leaves crunching beneath his feet.

Eventually, the tall man reached where he was sitting on the ground.

Instead of immediately speaking, Charlie started to stand up, his eyes never leaving the headstone. "I'm coming," he mumbled more to himself than to Willy. He managed to get to his feet, his next words emerging in a high-pitched squeak. "Is there something I need to do?" He asked, the question forced and very much out of character.

"Don't rush, Charlie," Willy said, his voice soft, but he removed his hat and rested his hand on the young man's shoulder. The pressure was light, but filled with the chocolatier's own brand of empathy.

The teenager nodded, but finally found the courage to look at, and take in, his friend's appearance. Instead of being dressed flamboyantly in hues of purples and greens, the chocolatier was dressed conservatively. Charlie could see the typical Willy Wonka style hidden beneath the trench coat. The velvet black outfit seemed to peer out from amidst the folds of his coat. In his hand, he now held a matching top hat.

For whatever reason, Charlie suddenly felt a sense of gratitude towards his mentor for having visually honored the bond of love that had been shared between grandfather and grandson. He did not say anything about it, but his eyes conveyed that emotion.

Upon making initial contact with the boy, Willy could feel the grief emanating through the simple touch to the young man's shoulder. "Are you alright?" He eventually asked. He did not know why he had asked that question, because deep down inside, he knew that his protégé was anything but 'alright'.

Charlie shook his head, thus confirming what Willy had been thinking. "I don't think I will ever be alright, Mr. Wonka," he whispered.

Although, he had, over time, come to think of the chocolatier as 'Willy', he had never found the courage to address him with any other name except his surname. Even his Grandpa Joe had gone to his grave having only addressed him with the formal 'Mr. Wonka'.

"You will," he said.

Charlie looked away, his lower lip trembling, but he seemed to be willing himself not to cry. The truth was, he had never cried in front of Willy, at least not openly. Sure he had cried when he was alone, but no one could see the extent of his heartache. He remembered always hearing things like 'real men don't cry' as he had grown up, and now it seemed as though he was ready to swear by those very same words.

Willy could tell that Charlie was completely consumed with sorrow. Instead of elaborating on this verbally, he simply wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him into a fatherly embrace.

"Just cry, Charlie," he said.

"Cry?" The teenager whispered as though repeating a foreign word.

"Yes, most people do this when they are sad, or grieving. You are experiencing both emotions, and I can imagine that right now you are also somewhat frightened," Willy said wisely. "Death tends to bring out uncertainties and emotions that other things simply don't do. They remind you not only of feeling left behind, but somehow they become an affirmation of our own mortality. That's not something that people often want to contemplate."

Charlie nodded, but still the tears would not come. Instead, he listened as Willy continued to speak, his soft voice clear and concise as they ripped through the befuddled sensations that consumed the young man. It was clear that Willy had recalled something that existed in the dark recesses of the past, but it had, in fact, taken place only four years ago.

"Do you remember what happened three days after your Grandma Georgina had passed away?" He asked and when Charlie shook his head, he continued. "You came to me in the Inventing Room and asked me how old I was."

"You never told me," Charlie said.

Willy smiled. "No, I didn't. I knew why you were asking, though. The truth is, I have always known, Charlie."

"You never said anything else about it," Charlie responded, his voice a soft whisper.

"I didn't want to embarrass you. I remembered when I was a teenager and how I had this sort of 'tough guy' reputation to uphold," he said, a tiny smile shadowing his face. "The thought of having someone come up to me and confront me about my uncertainties was just too much for me to bear. I didn't want to do that to you, so I stayed silent. I figured that in time, you would come to accept these feelings as real."

The youth nodded, all the while, unwilling to leave the sanctuary of his mentor's embrace. "I'm scared."

"I know, but just because one person has left you, does not mean that everyone else will," he said.

"How do you know?" Charlie asked. "My dad died two days before my birthday." He looked down at his feet. "I never said anything about it, but I recall the day as though it was yesterday. I remember sitting down with Grandpa Joe after the funeral and telling him that I didn't want to be alone. He said that that wouldn't happen, but it did and I am."

"Charlie, my dear boy, you are not alone," Willy said firmly. "You still have your mother, and you have me. Neither of us are going anywhere, at least not for a long, long time."

"But, you said that when I get older that you were going to leave. If you do that then I'll be alone, and have to take care of the Oompa Loompas all by myself," Charlie confessed. "I-I don't want you to go."

"Then I won't," Willy said, his words simple, but concise. "I will stay with you, Charlie, no matter what happens. It would be awfully cruel of me to leave when you are still dealing with all of this, wouldn't it?"

The teenager looked into the eyes of the chocolatier. "You mean it? You're not going to go away like you said?"

"No," came the simple answer. "I will stay with you for as long as you need me. I know that I will retire one fine day. Since we have become friends, Charlie, I have come to realize that I cannot simply leave you, the factory, or the Oompa Loompas. You're my home and my family."

Charlie tightened his hold on the candy maker, the tears sliding down over his cheeks. "You've always been like a father to me," he confessed, his voice completely breaking. "Maybe that's why I was so scared, Mr. Wonka."

"If that's the way you truly feel, then I think perhaps it is time for you to call me by my first name," he said, his blue-eyed gaze never faltering. "A family is not always defined in blood relations, sometimes a family becomes established by the love that people have for one another. When we met, we became an extension of that concept of family, Charlie. I became a part of your family and you a became part of mine."

He nodded, but started to cry more openly. "S-so that means you're not going to leave us?" He buried his face against Willy's chest.

"No, not if you don't want me to," the chocolatier said with an adamant shake of his head. As the embrace ended, he pulled away but looked down into the youth's tearstained face. "Do you feel any better now?"

"A little," the boy managed to speak.

It was at that moment that Willy Wonka made a discovery. Although Charlie had grown into a strong young man, the chocolatier could see that amidst their similarities in stature, there still dwelled an insecure little boy in the spirit of Charlie Bucket. This made him smile.

Wordlessly, Willy placed his hat over his heart as a sign of the respect to the old man whom he had spent these last years acknowledging as a friend.

They stood for several minutes, Charlie finally allowing himself to cry as well as say a final farewell.

For Willy, the thoughts he carried hurled him back to the day when they had toured the factory together for the very first time. His expression became contemplative as he recalled how Charlie and his grandfather had gone against his rules and tasted the fizzy lifting drinks.

As he was drawn into his memories, a tingling sensation crept onto his lips and curved them upward into a smile. Of course, for some moments he said nothing. The silence seemed to engulf them until he did eventually speak. "Charlie, do you remember the first day we met?"

The young man nodded. "I remember; Grandpa Joe called you an 'Inhumane Monster'." He smiled slightly at that particular recollection. "I didn't who was angrier, you or him."

"I think it was me," Willy said. "Did I ever tell you that I knew that you were scared of me when I let you have it?"

"You knew?"

"Yes, you couldn't very easily hide it," Willy said. "Perhaps it was wrong of me, but then you said my name and put the Gobstopper on my desk." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small star-shaped object. "You see; I still have it."

The teenager watched as Willy placed the object in his hand. "Grandpa Joe later told me that he was glad that I didn't listen to him," Charlie admitted as he fiddled with the object. After several seconds, he returned it to its owner. "It wasn't because of the factory, but because we both regretted what we had done. He reminded me all the time about how glad he was that I had acted on my own instincts."

"He learned something very special from you, something that changed him," Willy said. "You became his legacy, Charlie, and that will live on for the rest of your life."

"His legacy?"

"Yes," he said simply as the Gobstopper was returned to his pocket. He put a gentle arm around the young man's shoulder and led him away from the gravesite. "It was perhaps one of the most important lessons that he could have taught you."

"I miss him, Willy," Charlie said weakly.

"I know," was all the chocolatier could say.

He kept his arm around Charlie as they left the cemetery; the chocolatier's healing promise of staying with the young man still ringing in the teenager's ears.

The End.


End file.
